Scars of the Past
by AmberLS123
Summary: It's Basil of Baker Street's birthday...but why does he seem to be determined NOT to celebrate it? The answer lies in our hero's past.
1. Chapter 1

Scars of the Past

Chapter 1:

On the morning of June 13, 1898, Dr. Dawson descended the stairs and entered the sitting room. He was now settled into his new home at 221 ½ B Baker Street, which he shared with his friend, Basil of Baker Street, the Great Mouse Detective. He was surprised to find the sitting room empty, as Basil was usually up and about before he was. As he passed by the detective's favorite red armchair, the breeze from walking by caused some papers sitting on the side table to fall off. Dawson rolled his eyes as he bent over to pick them up. Basil was certainly not the most tidy of mice. As Dawsosn stacked the papers back together neatly, his eyes fell on the one on top. The paper was filled with colorful scribbles and doodles. Dawson called to mind the case that Basil had solved within the last week. A client had been receiving strange notes that resembled a child's drawing of mice dancing across the page; it turned out that they were actually threatening messages written in a code to the client's wife. But then Dawson noticed some writing.

"Hapy birtday Uncl Bazil."

Dawson chuckled softly. He had met Basil's family briefly at the ceremony where they were honored by the queen for thwarting Professor Ratigan's plans for taking over the kingdom. This must have been from Basil's niece and nephew, Louise and Arthur. Arthur was still just a toddler, so that would account for the scribbles; Louise was just the age to begin to learn how to write, which would also explain the misspellings and a few letters written backwards.

After replacing the papers back onto the table, Dawson settled into his own chair and began browsing the contents of the morning's paper. A few minutes later, Basil came into the room and hastily went straight to the suit of armor where his Inverness coat was draped over the arm.

"Morning," Dawson greeted him cheerfully.

"Um, morning," Basil replied as he shrugged on his coat. He gestured toward the door. "I'm uh…I'm heading out."

"You have a case then?"

"Ah, no, I'm just…going on a walk."

Dawson turned to look at Basil. Strange. He almost seemed nervous. "You want some company?" Dawson offered.

Basil attempted a smile, but it looked very strained. "No thanks, old boy," he replied as he fumbled with the button on his coat. "I uh… I just need some air. Be back soon."

"Oh. Alright." Dawson watched him concernedly as he headed toward the door. Hoping to cheer him up a bit, he added, "Oh um…Happy birthday, by the way."

But the gesture had the complete opposite effect on the mouse. Basil flinched visibly and froze in his tracks. He had expected Mrs. Judson to keep quiet about it, and she always had at his request, for which he was enormously thankful. But she must have told Dawson since he now lived here. Basil turned around and opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes fell on the open letters on the side table by his chair. He hastened across the room and began gathering them together.

"I didn't realize it was a habit of yours to examine other's private correspondence, Doctor," he said coldly without turning around.

Dawson grew alarmed, and a bit offended, at the sudden change in his friend. Finding it best to proceed with caution, he quietly replied, "I just saw the children's drawing because I picked it up when it blew off the table as I passed by. And I only read it because I thought the scribbles might be another cipher. Remember the case of the dancing mice? But I guess I shouldn't have-"

"No, you shouldn't have," Basil interrupted tersely as he stacked the papers together and hastily shoved them into his pocket. "Obviously, the phrase 'Curiosity killed the cat' has no meaning to you." He spun around to face Dawson, his emerald eyes flashing. "But since you _must_ know; yes, it is my birthday. However, it is a day just like any other, and one that I do not wish to celebrate."

Dawson bristled angrily as Basil brushed past him toward the door. Though he wasn't one to lose his temper easily, Basil's behavior was certainly beginning to try his patience. "I don't suppose I'm allowed to ask _why_ you wouldn't want to celebrate the day of your birth," he snapped.

Basil paused once more and spun around, his coat twirling around him as he turned to face the doctor. "Oh no, by all means, ask," Basil replied with a flourish, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He snatched his deerstalker cap from the suit of armor and placed it squarely on his head. Dawson gulped as Basil glared at him, his voice now dangerously low. "But forgive me if I refuse to provide an answer." With that, the detective stormed out angrily, slamming the door behind him.

Dawson exhaled slowly, now realizing he had been holding his breath. Though he hadn't known the detective long- less than a year- he had rarely seen Basil so angry, and never before towards him. Of course he had meant no harm, but he supposed it _was_ rude to look through someone else's mail. But then again, the problem seemed to lie with him mentioning Basil's birthday. Though he was completely at a loss as to why he would get so upset about that. Dawson glanced up as a lady entered the room carrying a tray of tea.

"Dreadfully sorry for the commotion, Mrs. Judson," Dawson apologized as he returned to his chair with a weary sigh.

The landlady smiled sympathetically. "Oh, it's quite alright, Doctor," she replied as she poured them both a cup of tea. "In a way, it's my fault really. I should have warned you earlier about this."

Dawson looked at her quizzically. "Why on earth would Basil get so upset over his birthday? Surely it's not an issue of not wanting to grow older; he's still so young!"

"Oh no, it's not that," Mrs. Judson replied. "But honestly, I haven't the foggiest notion why he's so secretive about it. He's always been like this. Just a couple months after he got settled in here, his siblings came to visit, wishing him a happy birthday. But Mr. Basil's face paled, and looked almost as if he would collapse. Then, despite our pleas, he practically ran out the door. His brother, Byron, followed him, and later found him in the cemetery. But it was nearly dark before Mr. Basil finally came home. He was obviously very embarrassed and apologized for his behavior…but he then respectfully asked me to never speak of his birthday again."

Dawson's eyes grew wide listening to the story. "Whatever caused him to react in such a way?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Judson replied with a shrug. "But I've kept my word, and haven't mentioned it to him again. Though I do wish I had told you ahead of time so you would have been prepared."

"You've done nothing wrong, Mrs. Judson. It's my fault for upsetting him." Dawson rose and stepped across the room to the coat rack. "I'm going to go look for him; make sure he's alright. And apologize," he added guiltily.

Mrs. Judson smiled. "You're a good mouse, Doctor Dawson, and as far as I know, you're the closest friend that Mr. Basil has ever had. If he'll listen to anyone, it's you. Good luck."

Dawson returned the smile as he put on his coat. "You're too kind, Mrs. Judson. And thank you…I'll need all the luck I can get." The doctor then went out the door, beginning his search for his friend.

The doctor turned his collar up and shoved his hands deep into his pockets to better fight off the cold. He was alone, the streets deserted as mice and humans alike huddled inside their homes to escape the pouring rain. Thunder boomed in the distance, heralding the coming of a storm. _Basil shouldn't be out in this weather, especially alone_, Dawson thought worriedly. However, from what Mrs. Judson had said, he had a hunch as to where the detective might have fled.

Dawson looked up as he spotted a tall church steeple reaching upwards to the heavens through the fog. Keeping along the wall surrounding the church, he reached a small iron gate. The rusty door gave out a creak as he gently pushed it open and stepped inside.

This small mouse cemetery was located behind some bushes of the church's graveyard, hidden from the view of humans. As Dawson wound his way through the maze of gravestones, he came upon a small clearing with a large fountain standing in the middle. Dawson spotted a lone mouse sitting on one of the benches that lined the walkway surrounding the fountain. Sure enough, it was Basil. The detective sat hunched over, his shoulders drooping as he rested his elbows on his knees. Dawson noticed that he held two small yellow flowers in his hands, tied together with a white ribbon.

Leaves crunched under Dawson's feet as he approached, alerting Basil of his presence. He knew it was Dawson without even having to look up because he was familiar with the doctor's footsteps.

"Mind if I join you?" Dawson asked quietly.

Basil replied by indicating the seat next to him with a nod. Neither mouse spoke. For a while there was only the sound of raindrops hitting the leaves of the bushes providing them with a bit of shelter. After a few awkward moments of silence, Dawson began. "Basil, I-"

"No, Dawson," Basil interjected, fiddling with the bow on the flowers in his hand. "You have done absolutely nothing wrong. I, on the other hand, need to learn to better control my temper." Basil blushed slightly in embarrassment remembering how he had reacted back at Baker Street, letting his temper get the better of him. "I…I am truly, very sorry, Dawson."

The doctor reached out and gently put a hand on his friend's shoulder, touched at his confession. It wasn't every day that the Great Mouse Detective admitted to being wrong. "All is forgiven, chap," he said with a smile.

Basil responded with a small smile of his own. But Dawson could see an infinite sorrow in the detective's emerald eyes.

"Doctor," Basil said suddenly, "have you ever had a…" Basil seemed to struggle to find the right word, "a… an unpleasant…experience that you strove to erase from your memory… however, the harder you tried to forget, the more it seemed to burn itself into your mind?"

"Yes," Dawson replied with a nod, understanding what he meant. "Such as some of those awful moments in Afghanistan, where my comrades were dying around me…" The Doctor grew saddened at the thought. "Those are actually some of my most vivid memories from my time in the service."

Basil nodded in agreement. Despite the cold, he rolled up his right sleeve to reveal three long faded white scars on his arm; one of the many injuries he suffered at the hands of Professor Ratigan at the top of Big Ben nearly a year ago. "It's like a scar," he said quietly, rubbing his arm gently. "It fades with time, and occasionally, you may forget that it's even there. But then, when the pain returns, you're reminded of its presence all over again. You may use medicine to try to help it to heal, or you may cover it up to hide it. But it never completely goes away."

Watching Basil as he spoke, Dawson knew that he was no longer speaking of physical scars. Truth be told, he did not know much about Basil, though they had shared the same living quarters for some time now. Dawson had often compared the great detective to a machine that could solve the most difficult of problems. However, looking at his friend now, he could see Basil struggling to control the intense emotions threatening to rise to the surface.

The detective took a shaky breath, and hesitated. He had never breathed a word about this to another soul. The only ones who knew about it were those directly involved, mainly his siblings and a handful of the older officers from Scotland Yard. He did his best to keep his past a secret to protect those he loved; so much so that he even went by his first name rather than his surname in order to protect his family from any harm that might come from his enemies. But looking at Dawson, seeing the compassion in his eyes… it encouraged him to continue his story.

**…...**

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><p><strong>Author's Notes: Resubmitting this because I decided to combine the first 2 chapters into one because they went together, plus I fixed spelling and grammar errors and change a few things. For example, the date of Basil's birth. I originally had it as January 6 for some reason... I think I read somewhere that that was the accepted date of Sherlock Holmes' birthday. But I've now changed it to June 13. Why? Well, since Eve Titus got Basil's name from Sherlock Holmes actor Basil Rathbone, I figured they could share the same birthday as well ^_^<strong>

**Yes, I admit Basil is being a little bit of a jerk-wad here xD He's just very sensitive about this particular date, and you'll find out why soon.**

***Fair warning: if you can't already tell, this wil be a very angsty depressing fic... I've only written a few sentences for chapter 3 and I'm almost in tears :(**

**Thanks for reading 3**

**Oh and I named Basil's niece and nephew "Arthur" and "Louis" in honor of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and his wife ^_^**


	2. Chapter 2

Scars of the Past

Chapter 2:

It was June 13, 1886. His eighteenth birthday. A momentous occasion in life; the transition from adolescence into adulthood. The young mouse studied his appearance in the mirror. He didn't feel any older, nor had his physical appearance changed much in the last year; although he might have grown a little taller and leaner. He ran a hand through his sandy disheveled hair in frustration. He'd spent the last ten minutes or so trying to tie a blasted green cravat around his neck.

"Honestly, Basil," came a feminine voice along with a soft chuckle from the door. The female mouse crossed the room and quickly took over the endeavor. "Eighteen years and you still can't tie your own cravat?"

Basil smiled. "Well it's a good thing I have such a wonderful mother to take care of me, isn't it?"

"And don't you forget it," she replied, wagging her finger at her son playfully.

Even though Amelia Brettman was a small, almost fragile lady, she was still the strongest woman Basil had ever met. She had a very weak immune system which made it very easy for her to become ill, so she was sick often. But that never deterred her. She always kept calm in a crisis; she took wonderful care of her husband and three children, putting their needs before hers; she was always seeking to help those in need. She was the backbone of their little family.

Basil strained uncomfortably, feeling as if the fabric tightening around his neck were a noose. "Why exactly do I have to wear the monkey suit again?" he asked for the umpteenth time.

"Because this is a momentous occasion!" his mother replied. "Your father is being honored for 20 years of service at Scotland Yard, plus it's your eighteenth birthday! That's plenty reason to celebrate."

"Yes, but is all _this_ really necessary?" Basil urged, gesturing to himself. "I feel like a criminal at the gallows." He closed his eyes and stuck out his tongue, making exaggerated choking noises as if he were being hanged.

"You've been spending far too much time with Richard and his cases," said Amelia, rolling her eyes playfully. "This is a very nice restaurant we're going to, and your father's colleagues will be there, so we must look our best." She spun him around to look in the mirror again "Look, see how nice! The green brings out your eyes. You look very dashing."

"Thank you, mother dearest," Basil replied with a mischievous grin, leaning down so she could reach to give him a light kiss on the cheek.

"You're welcome, birthday boy," Amelia replied with a warm smile, gazing up at her youngest child. All three of her children were bright and highly intelligent. But Basil had always been the most inquisitive, always asking "why?" as children do. He was certainly the most mischievous of the bunch; always getting into something, exploring, seeking to gain new knowledge. Traits he had inherited from Richard. He also shared his father's physical appearance; the two were so alike, it was uncanny. The only things he had inherited from her were his striking emerald eyes and love of music, particularly the violin.

Amelia felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. Byron, her eldest child, was twenty five and had moved out years ago, and was quickly rising through the ranks of her Majesty's secret service. Her daughter, Brynna, twenty-two years of age, had just gotten engaged to a well-known and successful lawyer. Now her youngest child was all grown up, a chemistry student at the University, top of his class. She felt her heart swelling with pride at the fine young mouse he'd become.

"No would you mind checking up on your father?" she asked, discreetly wiping the happy tears from her eyes as she headed out of the room while he followed. "He's been cooped up in that office all day. Maybe you can convince him to come out so we can get there on time; it wouldn't do for the Chief Inspector to be late to his own party."

"Anything for you, mum," Basil replied, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before bounding up the stairs. She laughed and shook her head, wishing she had half the energy he did.

…..

Basil gave a soft knock on the old oak door of his father's office before poking his head inside.

"Dad?"

An older male mouse who could have passed for Basil's twin sat cross legged in the middle of the floor amidst piles of books and papers. He glanced up from the worn leather-bound book he was scribbling notes in and smiled broadly at the sight of his son, leaping up from his spot on the floor with the energy of a mouse half his age.

"Basil, m'boy, look at this!" Richard exclaimed, rushing over to Basil and practically dragging him across the room in his enthusiasm, disrupting piles of paper scattered about the floor. Coming to an abrupt stop, he held a hand out indicating the wall in front of them as if presenting an exhibit to a large audience. "What do you make of it?"

After regaining his balance, Basil's eyes grew wide as he surveyed the area. Though he planned to become a chemist, his father's detective work greatly interested him as well, and he greatly admired him; though his methods were often eccentric, as was evident at this moment. The entire wall was covered in various scraps of paper; newspaper clippings, obituaries, photographs, police reports, criminal profiles, and notes in Richard's own scrawled handwriting. What made the sight more odd were the various colored strings and threads connecting each scrap of paper together, weaving together like a three dimensional game of "connect the dots."

"Um…" said Basil, nearly getting tangled up in the strings as he took a step forward for a closer inspection. "Well, my first impression is 'giant spider web.'"

"Exactly!" replied Richard, steely gray eyes shining with barely contained excitement. "It is my 'web of conspiracy.' Each crime committed within the past ten years has its place on this wall."

"Impressive," Basil remarked with a smile. "Judging from the maze of string, I'm guessing you've discovered that they're all connected somehow?"

"Oh no, no, no, not all of them," Richard explained. "The black threads all lead to dead ends, see?" Richard traced one thread with his finger to a small bare spot on the wall for explanation. "The yellows are ongoing investigations, the greens are solved cases, blues are cold cases, etc."

"What about the red?" Basil asked. "There seems to be more of those."

"Ah, now you're getting on the right track," Richard replied, barely able to contain his excitement. "The red ones are the most important of all. They are the ones that are connected."

Basil traced one with his finger, following it through the maze. "There's so many..."

Richard nodded solemnly. "Murders, robberies, blackmail… all intersecting and linking together."

"What do they lead to?" Basil asked curiously, carefully taking one of the threads in his hand and following it.

"Not what," Richard replied solemnly. "W_ho_."

Basil came to a stop once he reached the end of the thread and stared blankly at the spot on the wall. The string he followed along with dozens more ended at a piece of paper marked only with a giant red question mark.

"…It's a dead end."

"It seems that way, doesn't it?" Richard admitted. "The murders of several members of the board at a prominent University, the strangling of a wealthy American businessman, a robbery at the latest exhibit at the Museum of Natural History, fires at the docks supposedly caused by a faulty gas leak, along with dozens more murders, kidnappings, vandalisms… all committed by several different individuals…" Richard turned and looked Basil straight in the eye, his tone deadly serious. "…but orchestrated by one great criminal mastermind."

"Ah. And the identity of this individual…"

"Still unknown. But I'm close… so very close… to finding him out. For years his heinous crimes have gone unpunished. Even if the actual criminals are caught, no trace can be led back to him. He's been untouchable. Until now." Richard turned back to the maze, hands clasped behind his back. "We've discovered the web," he remarked, gazing at the efforts of his life's work. "Now we just need to find the spider."

"What mischief are you boys getting into now?" came Amelia's voice from the doorway.

"Mischief?" Richard remarked, feigning offense. "No mischief here. Right Basil?"

"Not at all," Basil agreed innocently. "Just… looking for a spider."

Amelia chuckled at the same roguish grin on both their faces. "I'm not even going to ask. Come on then, we're going to be late."

…

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><p><strong>Author's Notes: Hope I didn't make Basil <em>too<em> out of character here. He's much younger and naive, way before he became a detective and got all serious and cautious of people. Mainly trying to show the bond between him and his parents here. **

**And yes, I drew inspiration from Guy Ritchie's Game of Shadows and Sherlock Holmes' "web of conspiracy."**

**And I use the last name "Brettman" as tribute to Jeremy Brett since Eve Titus tributed his first name to Basil Rathbone, and also because it's hard for me to picture calling him anything but Basil. And he mentioned in the first chapter that he goes by his first name rather than surname to protect his family from his enemies. Mainly because of what will happen in this story.**

**Just a warning, the rest will be very angsty and depressing, so read at your own risk O.o**

**Basil and Brynna (c)Eve Titus and Disney**  
><strong>Richard and Amelia Brettman (c) me<strong>


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